


Cursed and Blessed

by embroiderama



Series: Cursed (de-aged Neal) [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angsty Schmoop, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal experiences his "little" problem again while visiting the Burkes, and Peter might be clueless about taking care of kids but he knows how to be there for Neal. (de-aged!Neal)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cursed and Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Gift of a Curse](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/578963.html), and I wrote it for my [Timestamp Meme](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/583473.html). It's set post-anklet.

Making the decision to stay in New York had been easy enough, and Neal thought that once the decision had been made--one he changed back into his adult self--he wouldn't have to worry about changing into a small child ever again. After all, what need was there for him to retreat into that form when he had friends and a home and nothing but hope for the future?

Peter had invited him over for the weekend, and they stayed up late into the evening discussing possibilities including a surprise offer from Reese Hughes who had opened his own consulting firm when retirement turned out to be unbearable again. The possibilities were wide open, and Neal should have expected to wake up tiny in the middle of the Burkes' guest bed but somehow it was still a surprise.

The thought of Peter or El finding him and being upset was horrible so Neal scrambled down from the bed, grabbed his phone and his shirt and ran to hide in the closet with the shirt wrapped around him. He dialed June and crossed his fingers that she would answer.

"Good morning," she said and Neal squeezed his eyes shut in relief.

"June? Can you call Peter for me?"

"Neal? Oh, darling, did it happen again? Do you want me to send a driver to pick you up?"

"No! I mean, yes I'm small again. I'm at Peter's house, and I think he might take it better from you than he would from Mozzie. I don't want him to--to--"

"I understand. I'll call him right now, and then I'll call you back. Is that okay?"

"Yes. Thank you, June."

"Of course. I'll talk to you very soon."

Neal put the phone down and worked on buttoning up his shirt with his fumbling little fingers while he waited. He imagined Peter answering his phone and listening to June, struggling to decide if he should believe what she had to say. When Neal heard footsteps approaching he realized that he didn't want to be found cowering in the closet so he popped up and opened the closet door just in time to see Peter open the door from the hallway. He had a look on his face that said he was going to raise hell if somebody was yanking his chain, and then his eyes widened and Elizabeth pushed in behind him.

Neal smiled, feeling shy, and Peter sank down to perch on the edge of the bed as Elizabeth put her hand over her face and sat down on the floor in front of Neal. His phone rang and he answered without looking. "June?"

"Are you okay, dear?"

Neal wasn't sure what to say so he looked back and forth between Peter and Elizabeth. "Are we okay?" he asked in a small voice.

Elizabeth reached out and put her hand on Neal's head, ruffling his hair with her fingers. "Of course," she said.

Peter cleared his throat and blinked hard. "You're safe, Neal. It's okay."

Neal nodded into the phone then realized he needed to speak. "I'm good. Thank you, June." He hung up and put his phone down on the floor. He felt self-conscious wearing his Oxford shirt like a baggy tent dress, but given that he'd only worn a tank shirt underneath rather than a t-shirt the other options were even worse.

Peter cleared his throat again. "June said that she would send over a driver with some clothes for you. Until then, are you hungry?"

El looked over at Peter. "Hon, do you remember if we have any cereal?"

"I'm not really a kid. I like the same foods I always have. I'm just small."

"How--" Peter's voice was rough, and he shook his head. "How does this happen?"

"I have no idea. It just does."

"You don't have to explain, sweetie." Elizabeth stood up and smiled at him. "Come on downstairs, and I'll make crepes."

Neal followed Elizabeth downstairs, and they made conversation while she made breakfast. Peter hung out in the background, and Neal could feel Peter staring at him but he didn't know what to do to make everyone more comfortable. The whole thing was weird, and Neal couldn't explain it to himself much less a man like Peter who loved logic and solid reality more than most people Neal knew.

After breakfast, Elizabeth had to leave the house to manage a Saturday event, leaving Neal and Peter to spend the day together. When June’s driver arrived, Neal changed into the overpriced play clothes June had bought him, and he was glad to be covered in something more than a billowy shirt. He and Peter watched TV for a while, and then Peter made his excuses to go do some maintenance outside. Neal poked around the living room for a while then realized that breakfast was kind of a while ago and started exploring the kitchen.

The refrigerator was taller than Neal remembered, and he could reach the handle to the freezer but the angle was bad. He tugged and tugged and then had a small temper tantrum when the frustration of not being able to do such a simple thing overwhelmed him. When he finally dragged over a chair and climbed up on it, the freezer door pulled open much more easily. Neal looked around inside, and way in the back, half-hidden, was a gallon of strawberry ice cream. Neal reached for it, but the chair was too far away for his tiny short arms to reach all the way to the back. He knew he should hop down and move the chair closer but he was determined to get it so he leaned forward, grabbed on to the freezer, and pulled himself close enough to grab the ice cream then dropped to the floor with his prize.

It was cheap ice cream, soft and sweet, and Neal dug into it with a big spoon. The taste was perfect, and before Neal knew it he was scraping the bottom of the carton and he felt very, very full. The back door opened and Neal looked up, startled.

"Neal?" Peter frowned as he looked at Neal and the chair and the slightly open freezer. "Damn it, you could have broken your neck. Why didn't you come ask me for help if you were hungry?"

Neal shrugged. He didn't know what to say, and he was starting to feel sick, like the strawberry ice cream was doing something terrible inside of him.

Peter walked closer and looked down at Neal, looming but distant, and Neal looked down. "Neal--" Peter sighed heavily then muttered, "Damn it." Peter's hands felt huge on Neal's sides, and when he lifted Neal up in the air Neal's mind filled with a combination of _this is fun_ and _what the fuck_ but before he could decide what to say--and just as he felt the cool surface of the kitchen counter under his butt--Neal's stomach lurched and he hurled a foul, liquefied version of strawberry ice cream all over the front of Peter's shirt...and pants...and shoes.

The adult mind in Neal was horrified and humiliated at the mess and even more so when the heaves gave way to hiccuping sobs, the emotional and physical discomfort having overwhelmed the resources of his small body. Over the sound of his own misery, Neal heard Peter whispering, "Oh shit. Oh shit."

The bracing hold of Peter's hands went away, and Neal felt himself tipping over toward the kitchen floor but then Peter, considerably less vomit-covered now that he'd stripped down to his undershirt on top, wrapped his arms around Neal and held him close. It was terrible and embarrassing and yet having Peter's arms wrapped around him felt perfectly warm and incredibly safe. In that comfortable haven, Neal relaxed enough that his sobs trailed off and he moaned quietly into the clean cotton covering Peter's shoulder.

"You're okay," Peter said, and Neal could feel the vibration of his voice. Neal felt one of Peter's big hands rubbing gentle circles on his back, and he thought that he should have hated it but he really, really didn't.

"I'm sorry," Neal mumbled into Peter's shoulder, and Peter kept his hands on Neal's shoulders as he pulled back far enough to look Neal in the eye.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone like that. I mean, God knows you have little enough impulse control when you're grown. I just--I don't know what to do around kids. You know that."

Neal nodded. "I'm not really a kid though. Just, maybe, be my friend?" Neal wiped a hand over his face, felt the tears, snot and worse, and felt utterly disgusting. "I'll change back soon, probably in the morning."

Peter opened his mouth as if to say something but then shook his head and started again. "Okay. Okay. You managed to miss your own clothes, but what do you think about coming upstairs with me so I can change and you can wash your face? Or do you still feel sick?"

"I feel gross but I think I'm done throwing up." Neal looked down at the floor, and he knew he could jump down, but he didn't want to. "Help me down?"

Peter lifted Neal up from the counter and set him down on his feet on the floor, taking it slowly enough that Neal didn't feel more than a brief urge to make even more of a mess. He allowed Peter to shepherd him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

In the bathroom, he washed his face when Peter handed him a warm, wet washcloth, and he chased the rancid taste from his mouth with a toothbrush that felt big and awkward in his mouth.

Peter left for his bedroom then came back wearing clean clothes and rested his hand lightly on Neal's head. "How are you doing?"

Neal shrugged and ducked out from underneath Peter's hand. "Okay." The truth was that he felt vaguely sick and tired enough to curl up in a small space and sleep. Neal wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against the corner of the doorjamb, and when he felt Peter's hand on his shoulder he didn't move away.

"Uh-huh. You know, there's a baseball game starting up. You think you could tolerate watching it with me for a while? If anything else happens to you while El is gone I'm going to be in deep trouble when she gets home."

"I can do that." Watching TV with Peter sounded oddly good, not that Neal wanted to admit that. He followed Peter down the stairs and sat down on the sofa with his knees pulled up to his chest. Satchmo came trotting in from outside and curled up next to the sofa, and Peter followed with a small glass of ginger ale in his hand.

"Sip at this, okay?"

Neal nodded and took a sip from the heavy glass before putting it down on the table. Peter sat down and turned on the game but the volume was so low Neal could barely hear it. He put a hand on Neal's knee then breathed out a quiet laugh that wasn't humorous at all. From the look on his face, Neal knew that Peter was in investigative mode; he needed to understand, but Neal didn't entirely understand the curse himself.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Peter muttered, and then he shook his head. "How many times has this happened to you?"

"Five."

"Is it always the same? The same age that you revert to?"

"I think so."

"So." Peter cleared his throat. "So, who else knows about this?"

"June, of course. Mozzie--he was there the third time. A-and Kate knew."

"Of course, Mozzie. That was on the island?" At Neal's nod Peter continued more gently. "Kate, was that the second time?"

"Yes." Neal really didn't want to get into a conversation about Kate, and he was grateful that Peter seemed willing to move on until he realized what the inevitable next question would be.

"But the first time--Neal, were you alone? When was this?"

Neal closed his eyes and pulled his legs closer to his chest. "I had just left home. I got to the city, and the world was so big. I woke up small, and a day later when I woke up grown again it was better. I knew that I wasn't small and helpless, that I could make my own decisions and take care of myself." Neal tried not to think about the storage closet he'd hidden in all day, wrapped up in his over-sized clothes and clutching his backpack.

Peter moved closer, and the weight of his arm around Neal's shoulders reminded him that things were different now. "You must have been terrified." They sat in silence for a moment, and Neal let his head tilt to rest against Peter's ribs. "You know you're safe now, right? I might not understand this, and I might be kind of a clueless when it comes to children, but I'm your friend." Peter sighed and Neal shifted his shoulders to lean more of his weight against Peter. "I know you have big decisions to make, but this house--it can be the place you need it to be. Safe."

Neal nodded, feeling terribly sleepy. "Thanks, Peter." Neal relaxed his hold on his legs until he was loosely curled up next to Peter. The baseball game was a mumble in the background as he gave in to the demands of his small body and fell asleep.

The game was still going when Neal woke up to the sound of clicking footsteps. He opened his eyes to see an up-close view of denim, and he realized that his head was pillowed on Peter's leg. He was also still small, though he knew it was too soon to have changed back already. El stopped on her way through the room and gave the two of them a smile that looked like she was mentally comparing them to a basket full of puppies.

"I'm glad to see everything went well for you boys today."

Neal sat up to look at Peter, and Peter looked back at him with barely-contained laughter. Neal would be grown again soon, but until then he knew that everything would be okay.


End file.
